


Not You.

by technophileTriquetra



Series: Redamancy [1]
Category: Original Work, Redamancy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Canon Trans Character, Control Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Finger Sucking, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Original Character-centric, Original Fiction, POV Second Person, Rape/Non-con Elements, Trans Male Character, Trans!Aiden, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vampire!Eldwick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technophileTriquetra/pseuds/technophileTriquetra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eldwick wasn’t cruel, as you had expected, as you had been told by others. He wasn’t cold. Every morning you would wake up to the sun gently shining through the window, Eldwick in the process of shutting the blinds to preserve his fragile skin. He’d cover you in kisses and small words of affection before you get up to start your day. Every morning you would find a plate of still-hot breakfast and coffee waiting for you, along with your daily medication, on the dining room table.</p><p>As it turns out, he did love someone. But it was not you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Redamancy_ is an original universe created by myself and Luke, a close friend of mine. We are in the process of creating a visual novel based around the universe, as well as a webcomic that is currently in progress as well. 'Not You' and it's companions that consist of any supernatural elements are alternate universes of Redamancy and are not considered canon to the original universe, the visual novel, or the webcomic. Please note that I do not condone infidelity, Eldwick's actions in this fic, or his treatment of Aiden.
> 
> For references of Aiden and Eldwick, please see this link.
> 
> http://img10.deviantart.net/3d52/i/2016/170/b/c/redamancy__aiden_and_eldwick_by_jackra8bit-da6unqg.png

You remember the first time you made love. Remember it so clearly. It was the night of your wedding. Eldwick had taken it upon himself to purchase two tickets to Italy. “Don't worry about your classes,” you distinctly remember him telling you the day prior to the ceremony. “I've taken care of everything. You need not lift a finger.” And you knew what he said to be true. Your own family couldn't afford your expensive college courses, nor such an extravagant wedding, and a honeymoon to Europe was out of the question.

This all changed the moment Sir Eldwick Ware came into your life. Your parents knew a ‘business associate’ (to this day you're not quite sure what sort of business associate it was) that worked closely with him. Sought after by many, captured by none. Your parents proposed a deal with the rich Vampire heir. You were to be wed to him. A virgin, with soft brown hair and big green doe eyes, they told him. You stood quietly behind your mother while your father did all the negotiating. You had to listen while he spoke about you like cattle in the market.

“Never been touched nor seen, except from his mother and I, and babysitters. Still fresh, young, only sixteen. He'll do anything you say,” your dad bargained with his door to door salesman grin. Of course, nothing quite took Eldwick’s interest quite like that. He'd turned, smouldering grey eyes drifting from your father to you. You felt every muscle in your body tense, your lungs stopped working and your tongue begin to feel as though it was swelling with nervousness. The intensity of his gaze made you want to faint, and had it not been for the guiding hand of your mother on the small of your back pushing you forward, and the sincere yet sinister grin on your soon-to-be-lovers face, you just might have.

“Tell me, Aiden,” he said. Addressing you directly. He looked so intimidating. “Is that true. Are you really willing to do anything?”

Your parents expected things of you. They coached you for this moment. Hours and hours of mock interviews and impromptu quizzes on what to say and what not to say prepared you for this. To turn you into the perfect husband and feeder for the heir, that was their plan. Before answering, you tried to catch your mother's eye, but it was too obvious if you tried to signal something to her. Out of your peripherals you could see your father’s frantic movements to get your attention from behind the vampire. He was mouthing something you couldn't quite make out. Until it hit you, all at once.

_ Yes. _

You couldn't let them down more than you already had.

Looking back to Eldwick, you had given him the sure little nod that sealed your fate.

“If that would make you happy,” you said quietly. The air of innocence in your voice clings to the smarmy grin that seeps over his perfectly thin lips. It seems it would indeed make him happy. From that day forth you became his personal pet. The feeder most, if not all, vampires possess. You were briskly moved in with him in only a matter of days, and just weeks after that, engaged.

Eldwick wasn’t cruel, as you had expected, as you had been told by others. He wasn’t cold. Every morning you would wake up to the sun gently shining through the window, Eldwick in the process of shutting the blinds to preserve his fragile skin. He’d cover you in kisses and small words of affection before you get up to start your day. Every morning you would find a plate of still-hot breakfast and coffee waiting for you, along with your daily medication, on the dining room table.

He planned out all of your meals, took care of all of your finances. Took care of you, because you were never taught how to take care of yourself. That made you weak, and vulnerable, and his most perfect mate.

Your wedding night was like something out of a fairytale. It took place after sundown, of course. Eldwick’s family was there, mingling with the very few people you had invited. Your mom and dad had been the extent of it. You didn’t have many friends, you didn’t have a job. His family had been welcoming of you. An older woman he’d told you was his great-great Aunt Valeria, had even groped at your belly and asked when you’d be carrying his children.

You were too embarrassed to reply, and took to hiding your face in the sleeve of Eldwick’s shirt.

Walking down the aisle was… anxiety inducing. Sweat began to bead at the tips of your fingers and pool in your palms where they had been clasped around the yellow and orange flowers. That was your theme. Yellow and orange. Like a sunset, Eldwick whispered in your ear the night he asked you to marry him.

“Or a sunrise,” you countered. “Because. Because it’s the start of a new day.”

He’d merely laughed and told you to rest.

Your father walked you down the aisle and lead you to Eldwick, who might as well had been your Prince. He was wearing an off-white, almost creme coloured suit. His hair was pulled up in a braided ponytail, his perfect bangs separated in the middle of his widow’s peak. You felt like the luckiest boy in the room. And in that moment, you were. You were getting married to a wealthy vampire, and you loved him. He loved you.

After the extravagant reception fit only for a family like Eldwick’s, you were whisked away by the women of family for… preparation.

It was then that you learned it to be tradition for vampires-- if not just the Ware line themselves-- for the women of a family to help ready the bride for the wedding night. In this case, it’s you. The second groom. You were showered and shaved and primed just how ‘Eldwick likes it’. You didn’t mention how uncomfortable that made you to hear, to even think about the love of your life maybe showing interest in another. He wouldn’t do that to you, you know, but the way they spoke made worry set in, if just for a moment.

But oh, how he loved you, only you.

He spoke those words against the back of your neck on your wedding night. His breath helped to heat up the sweat beginning to chill on your skin and his hands held you down like you belonged to him. You could feel everything. His hair, undone from his ponytail, gently tickling the freckled skin of your back, sweeping bright white in the darkness of your hotel room. His knees, nestled just inside of yours, spreading you open for him, making it hurt. The good kind of hurt. Feeding off of you. Every ounce of blood pulsing from the cuts in your shoulder to flow between the tastebuds on the flat of his tongue.

_ Everything. _

You would do anything for him. And he loved you in return.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

You’d always wanted a dog.

A little pomeranian you named ‘Cheeto Puff’ when you found him. He barked incessantly at Eldwick and Eldwick didn’t do anything but cross his arms over his chest and sneer. You looked up at him with pleading eyes from where you knelt on the ground next to the puppy, and he still didn’t speak when he signed the adoption papers. Cheeto slept in your bed, right by your side when you weren’t curled up next to your husband in those small little hours you two got to rest together.

You likely weren’t able to bear children, due to complications with your medication and an unfortunate accident when you were younger. Eldwick wanted to carry on the Ware name, and you wouldn’t be able to give that to him. So you treated that dog like a child. He was the little baby that you and Eldwick could never really have.

It’s raining when you get to school. You’re just in time; three minutes till the bell of your morning class, and you’re gathering all of your things up in your hands in a flurry from the passenger’s seat. Your sleek black Lexus is parked close enough to the doors that you make it into the class, dripping wet and almost out of breath. A few heads turn, but other than that the lecture hall is silent while they wait for your professor to begin. The professor, who walks towards you with a troubled look on his face. Eyes go wide when his arm slinks around your shoulder and you’re suddenly being lead from the class to the hall outside.

“I apologize, Aiden,” he says with a sigh, and there’s a pause when he clears his throat that lets you know something is wrong. Your fingers clench at the papers and folders clutched to your chest as he starts to talk again. “But your classes are no longer being paid for. All of the funds in your tuition have been temporarily frozen. I’m going to have to ask you to go home.”

You stand there. You just… stand there. Because no, that can’t be right. Eldwick is in charge of all of your finances, and the bank account that holds your tuition. He would never make a mistake that caused all of your funds to freeze, or stop going to the school, or… or…

“I want to talk to the dean!” you yell at him. There are already tears stinging at the corner of your eyes, forcing you to turn away before you really start crying in front of the professor. He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell you that it’s useless. Even if he did want to, you’ve scurried halfway down the hallway before he could even get a single word out.

The conversation with the dean of students is all the same. Head heavy, foggy, nose stuffed up and the back of your sleeve beginning to cake with dried snot from your upper lip, you’re told that you stopped paying tuition, which, in turn, meant that your classes would have to come to a complete stop until you start paying again. You try to explain it had to be some kind of mistake, because your husband pays for your classes, and he would never do that.

“Mistake or not,” he tells you. “I’m sorry, Mr. Benton. You can’t go to school here anymore until it’s paid for.”

It’s still raining when you walk slowly back to your car. Your papers are sopping wet by the time you reach it. Curly brown hair sticks to your forehead. When you look at your reflection in the window, you can’t tell if that wetness is from tears or the rain. Maybe both. Probably both. Within the safety of your car, you curl up in the driver’s seat and try to control the sobs that threaten to wrack through your body. When it comes, it crashes in you like waves. Bursts of hysterical sobbing to quietly whimpering as tears fall, a gentle reminder of all of your failures. You can fix this. This is just a mistake. Your anxiety is getting the best of you. If you just call Eldwick and explain what happened, he'll fix it.

On the third ring, you realize he won't answer his phone. You try to call four more times, message after desperate message squeaked into the receiver. After that final try, you tug the messy sleeve of your sweatshirt back over your balled fist, scraping the tears from flushed cheeks in rough movements. You're still sniffling, but your fit is over. You keep telling yourself to just drive home. It's sunrise. Eldwick probably already went to bed. That's it. You put your car in drive and take a few seconds to remember if anything strange had happened this morning. He hadn't seemed mad, though nowadays you can hardly tell. He seemed… fine. Everything seemed fine, and you're repeating this in mumbled tones under your breath when you notice something in the corner of your windshield.

Translucent paper, glued by the rain and forced to contour with the glass, it's no wonder you couldn't see it with just how ravaged it was by the insane weather. Putting the car carefully in park again, you're able to reach through your car window enough to grab a corner of the paper. It slowly glides from the windshield and into the palm of your hand. You're still dabbing at the stray tears with your sleeve when you start reading.

“ **Payments on this vehicle have been halted indefinitely. This vehicle will be repossessed until proper payment has been made. Removing the boot on this vehicle will result in a fine.** ” An address is squished underneath thanks to some poorly planned designing.

Boot.

You read over that word again, confused.

Boot…?

The rain and you have become pretty close friends at this point. You just hope you don't catch pneumonia. You're prone to those things. You flip your hood up over your head and open the door to step out. It said your car had a boot. Had you really missed it before?

Apparently so, because you now see a bright yellow boot tacked on to the driver’s side tire, keeping you in place, and keeping you from going home. It really hits you all at once what’s going on. You’re suddenly struck with the realization that Eldwick _did_ do all of this, and he most certainly did it on purpose, and he isn’t asleep; he’s ignoring your calls just to make you desperate. Momentarily you think back to some of the things that Rowan had said about him, but those thoughts are shaken from your head. Eldwick loves you. You just have to fix this.

Someone up there has to be laughing at you. That’s the only explanation for why the sky begins to darken at only 9am, and the clouds continue to drench you in rain. Your feet are wet, the canvas of your shoes doing nothing to stop the puddles from completely permeating through the fabric. A shiver runs up your spine and spreads over your shoulders to the trembling tips of your fingers shoved underneath of your armpits in an attempt to keep yourself warm. Nothing helps. A car speeds past and kicks up a puddle, old rain water splashing against your shins, and you yelp uncomfortably at the chill.

On your way, you message Rowan. The conversation is short and sweet, and you’re painfully aware, now, of the reason that your husband has for all of this. You weren’t supposed to be talking to Rowan. You were told explicitly not to talk to him, and you must have forgotten to delete a message or two, because Eldwick knows. He knows you’ve been sharing private details about your personal life with him when you knew better than that. This is your punishment. Eldwick is showing you what your life would be like if you didn’t have him. You’d be out of school, without a car, you’d be cold, and sad, and alone. Without him you would be nothing, and you choke back another sob when you think about this. This is your fault. You did something bad. You’re paying for it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Repentance means you change your mind so deeply that it changes you."- Bruce Wilkinson

“Cheeto?”

When you come home from class, your little puppy is always there to greet you even if your husband is already asleep. He leaps up at your shins and you hold him, cuddle him close and give him a treat before you sit with him on the couch to watch some television while you do classwork. The door chime alerts anyone in the house that you’re home, so had Cheeto even been in his bed, he would come scurrying down the elegant hallway to meet you. This time, you’re greeted by nothing, no one. The blinds are all drawn so no sunlight brightens the house, and the moment the door is closed behind you, you might have been convinced that it was the middle of the night. The house was dark. Your footsteps echo walking down the hallway, first stopping in the kitchen for a glass of cold water from the tap. Eldwick hates when you do that. But maybe he won’t know you didn’t use the water from the fridge. When you drain the clear glass of water, you set it in the sink and wipe your mouth on your sleeve. You’d almost forgotten how dirtied your sleeve was from earlier. The face you pull is one of disgust at yourself as you imagine what Eldwick would say to you if he saw.

“I thought I told you not to drink tap water, my love,” a voice croons gently from the living room, through the walkway that leads into the kitchen. “It’s bad for your already… declining health.”

Inside of you, you’re sure you can feel your blood run completely cold. Eldwick can hear your heart begin to speed, so you try to calm yourself down before he questions it. You follow the sound of his voice to meet him in the living room, where he sits in his armchair, away from the window. Staring at you the moment you step over the threshold.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble to him. He doesn’t reply, so you drop your gaze to the floor and continue. “I just forgot.”

Still he says nothing. Neither do you. You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Eldwick watches you carefully. Even though you’re not looking at him you can feel his eyes, a sensation that you know all too well. There’s a small shuffling noise, fabric against fabric and socks against a waxed hardwood floor and he’s standing in front of you with one finger crooked under your chin. You’re forced to look at him when he pushes your head up.

“Where’s Cheeto Puff?” you ask without thinking. Another mistake, another thing you’re just going to have to fix, and you flinch when his eyebrows crease and his frown deepens. He doesn’t respond. When the silence begins to amount to the point of ‘too much’, you’re just about to apologize when he slices through it with the sharpness of his tongue.

“You’re hardly capable of doing as you’re told, Aiden,” he scolds in such a calm voice. You shrink back. Eldwick has never and would never raise his voice at you, but when he uses that… tone. That’s when you know you’re in trouble. “The poor dog needs someone that can take care of him. Not someone as irresponsible as you.”

_ Someone as irresponsible as you _ . Those words burn you. Not because he’s saying them to hurt you on purpose, but because you know it’s true, and Eldwick knows that you know it’s true. You’re irresponsible because you were never taught otherwise. You never were told to grow up. Handed from your parents arms to Eldwick’s care when you were sixteen, there was no reason for you to grow up. You’d always been taken care of…

You don’t notice until Eldwick reaches up to thumb away a tear from your cheek that you had started crying. Cheeto Puff was your best friend-- your only friend, really, if you didn’t count Eldwick. To think that your willful ignorance is what got him sent away. He’s probably so scared. What if they’re not treating him right? The tips of your fingers prickle with anxiety and sadness. Balled fists come up from where they rest, tense at your sides, for your fingers to uncurl and cup over your mouth. The whimper still escapes your throat and through the gaps between skin; you can’t muffle how much you hurt. All at once your life is beginning to fall apart, and the last remaining shred of normalcy is Eldwick. If you don’t fix what you’ve broken now, you might lose him, too. And then you’ll have nothing.

Eldwick says nothing while you sob to him. He lets you cry. There are tears beginning to dry in streaks on the pale skin of your hands and you can taste the salt on the tip of your tongue when you try to wash away the wetness from your lips. Behind the transparent lenses of his glasses you see the sharpness of his grey eyes bore into your own dull green hues. He’s telling you to make it up to him and fix all of your mistakes. You know that because you know him better than anyone. Eldwick stares at you while you make an effort to quiet yourself down and force the tears to stop falling from the corners of your eyes. He always was a patient man. 

“Let me make it up to you,” you force out, voice shaky. He quirks the corner of his lip up in a mocking smirk at you, the expression gone nearly the same instant that it came. He moves his hands to curl his thin fingers around your wrists. The pressure from his hot, calloused skin is almost soothing, in a way. Hands pulled from your mouth by Eldwick’s will, you let out a sigh of relief when the heat of your own breath is no longer making the skin around your mouth bead with sweat. He owns you. He loves you. He’ll take care of you. But only if you’ll let him, and only if you show him that you deserve it. Eldwick’s body heat pressed to your torso helps you to forget the rain that drenches your clothes right down to your quivering freckled skin.

Back meets the wall too soon and Eldwick’s grasp grows tighter. It hurts, you want to tell him, knowing there will be dark bruises forming around the pulse of your wrist when all is said and done. You keep your quiet innocence about you instead. You tilt your head up to meet his lips and watch as his eyes narrow but never close behind his glasses. Eldwick releases your wrists. His hands slide down your arms and down your thin frame to paw at the hem of your sweatshirt. He never does so eagerly, you’ve come to notice. As your own eyes fall shut and he continues to watch you while you kiss you can feel the warmth of his skin pressing against your damp hips. You sigh. This is familiar; his touch and his lips on yours. Eldwick retreats. Had one been watching, one might have thought this to be rehearsed, because your husband’s hands leave you again and you’re left cold, pressed against the wall between the kitchen and the living area. He returns to his chair, and this you take as your cue to follow after him. Crawling up on his lap, you straddle his thighs and place your hands on either side of his shoulders, thumbs barely brushing the skin of his neck. You can’t read his face. His stormy eyes say nothing, his lips remain in a thin line. A finger reaches up to trace the subtle lines of his face and the sharp curve of his jaw. You boop the tip of his nose and force a smile. What you get in return is Eldwick’s hands suddenly grasping onto your hips and pulling you down against him.

“I thought you were making it up to me, Aiden,” he says. He sounds bored. Is he bored? Are you boring him? You feel a hot blush light up your face, deep brown freckles becoming lost in the pigment for just a moment.

“I am. I will. I love you,” you tell him. You forget about the wetness of your clothes and how the rain has gone and made your already curly hair frizzy when you stare at your lover with heavy eyes and sink into the sensation of him. This pleases him, the way you tilt your head and press gentle kitten kisses to the side of his face leading up to his lips. You can tell because his hands are gentler on you now. You allow yourself to grind against him. A hum of approval vibrates against your lips in the middle of quiet little kisses. You grin.

His hands force their way up the back of your sweatshirt. The blue shirt you had on underneath is taken along for the ride, both garments of clothing stuffed underneath your armpits for Eldwick to scratch blunt nails down the ridges of your back. You feel him catch on your ribs as he goes down, down, finally reaching the seat of your pants. His hands slide down there, too, making you shiver. You feel gooseflesh prickle along every inch of your body. Eldwick’s mouth leaves yours, and you’re unable to protest when he latches onto the line of your neck. You have plenty of scars from his feedings. You know he won’t feed off of you right here, right now. He instead gives you something to look forward to later, teasing you with the very tips of his elongated canines. His nails push into the plush of your ass and you don’t stop yourself from pushing back against his palms only to rut forward and feel the hard line of his cock through layers of clothing, wet and dry.

It makes you happy that you can do this to him, and that you’re the only one that gets to experience him like this.

A whimper escapes you as his tongue probes at the flesh just under your ear. You feel a desperate kind of soreness in your sex, grinding harder against him to find some sort of relief. You both know relief for you won’t come until he’s inside of you.

“You’re drenched,” he scolds you, and oh, how you love his voice. You nod, you agree, yes, you’re drenched, you need to get out of these clothes, you need him to make you feel  _ whole  _ and  _ warm _ and  _ safe _ . You nod because you’re incapable of doing anything else. He helps with this, too, dragging his hands from underneath the hem of your boxers to adjust his grip on you. A sound of pure delight comes out of you when you’re lifted into the air and held tight against him, the only movement slightly jolting you from such a comfortable position being that of Eldwick’s purposeful footsteps on the hardwood floor. The staircase spirals upwards for what seems like an eternity, you almost take to counting the steps until you see that you’ve reached the second floor landing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For the most part, that message hasn't changed a lot over the years - love is still love, and heartbreak is still heartbreak." - Casey Kasem

The bedroom you share with Eldwick is the last door on the left. The letters of either first name are painted in gold cursive on the wood, and the year of your marriage to each other strung silver beneath. Some might say that Eldwick isn’t romantic; you care to disagree. He chooses to show it differently than others. Perhaps he doesn’t gift you with flowers on your anniversary or surprise you with chocolate on Valentine’s day. Your mother had always taught you that it’s the little things that add up, that really make an impact. Eldwick taking care of you in a way that you had never even dreamed of, the beautiful bedroom he provided you with, all of the small gestures and briefly shared moments together in that silent in between, before the dark night skies meet the sun. You don’t need the smell of fresh cut roses or a meaningless heart shaped box to know how he feels.

You don’t notice when Eldwick has taken one of his hands off of you to push open the door, but in a matter of seconds your back is hitting the white down comforter on top of your mattress. Across pink lips a smile spreads. This house, this room, they all hold the warmth and love of your marriage. No matter what anyone says, Rowan or otherwise, Eldwick has always, and will always, love you more than life itself. His body covers yours and his teeth dig just that much deeper into your neck. They break through the first layer of skin. Hardly any blood is drawn; it’s tiny twin pinpricks side by side, just an inch or two apart. You groan at the pressure and slight pain of it all, and he licks away the pulses of heat from the reddened skin. Short, skinny fingers move from gripping his shoulders to the gold hairtie that holds back silvery hair. Pausing there, he gives no indication that he wants you to stop, still pressing heated kisses to your skin and letting his hands gently begin to creep back up your sides underneath of your shirt. When you let his hair loose it spills over his shoulder and tickles your chest, making you sigh contentedly. You’ve never seen anything, anyone, more beautiful than him, you can’t help but think when you open your eyes a sliver to take in his form above you.

This changes when you feel your husband’s weight shift from on top of you to the sheets beside you, mattress dipping underneath of his weight. Your eyes shoot open with fear.  _ Have I done something wrong? _ you think to yourself immediately after you see him resting beside you. But his eyes are calm and a hand reaching out to brush a curl away from your forehead relaxes your shoulders, having tensed up after his initial movement. His hair is draped over his left shoulder, straight strands reaching just past his pectorals. You lean your head into the touch of his hand while you peer up at him, but once again he moves and he’s no longer touching you, leaving you cold.

“Undress, Aiden,” Eldwick commands. And you, as always, comply eagerly. Your skinny form drops off of the bed onto the plush carpet below, feet sinking down into the fibres. The bed moves behind you. When you turn around you see that Eldwick has now shifted to sit on the edge of your shared bed. Though still fully clothed, you feel fully exposed to his beautiful eyes.

You start with your saturated sweatshirt. Fingers grip the bottom elastic-- had he not been watching you, you would have pulled it over your head using the collar. He likes when you do it like this better. Slowly you inch the fabric up over your belly. The higher your arms get, the more your shirt rides up to reveal the soft skin of your hips. After all these years the blush shouldn’t heat up your face, you shouldn’t be shy to show him your body. Eldwick has always liked the way you act so shy each time you’re intimate with him, though, so you’ve never tried to change your ways. The article of clothing drops to the floor in a damp pile beside your feet shuffling nervously on the carpet. He doesn’t dare move as he takes in your form and waits for you to continue the act of stripping for him.

The blue shirt that hangs from your thin frame and narrowed shoulders is next. With purposeful eyes he watches your fingers make indents in the fabric, stretching the cotton marginally when it’s pulled over your head. You feel a strand of hair curl over your forehead and you brush it away with the back of your hand. Sheepish eyes that had rested on the window to your left move back to your waiting husband on the bed, but something in his eyes makes you stop cold. His expression has changed to something of disgust, and he’s fixated on your chest. Instinctively you look down to see what’s wrong. You don’t see anything. All you see are two dark scars underneath of each pectoral, fully healed but visible nonetheless. But he’s seen them before, he was there when you had the surgery. Why, now, of all times, is he looking at you like your fixed body disgusts him? He must notice the way your eyes begin to water up and your shoulders tense, the way your arms wrap around your belly, because you do that when you’re scared, or upset. Eldwick softens visibly, in what you assume is an attempt to quell your worrying.

It doesn’t help.

“I only wish your beautiful skin didn’t have to be marred with scars, Aiden,” he tries to explain, reaching his hands out for you. “Don’t look so scared; come closer.”

To which you comply with your shivering arms wrapped around your body protectively. Eldwick’s hands meet your hips and drag you closer, closer, until you’re standing between his legs and his face is nearly level with yours. You feel his touch travel up your sides until he’s able to grip his fingers around each of your wrists, forcing your arms away from your belly and leaving you feeling more exposed than before. Your body jolts in surprise when warm lips meet your sternum; Eldwick places well-intentioned kisses down the center of your chest in unspoken praise, and you melt at the heated score of his tongue and his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. Again his touch leaves you, this time left without room for you to bring your actions into question, because Eldwick speaks before silence has a chance to set in.

“You’ve still not taken off your pants,” he tells you, as if you didn’t already know. Now isn’t the time for you to be bold. You bite your tongue before it betrays you. Brown curls fall into your face again when you nod and shuffle less than a foot away from where you had stood in between his legs. Thumbs replace where your husband’s fingers had been, dipping on either side of your hipbones jut below the elastic of your boxers. Eldwick’s stare can be likened to that of a predator, eyes locked onto it’s prey as it watches each subtle movement of it’s body. When he looks at you this way you feel like a caged animal, a feeling that doesn’t dissipate when your jeans are shimmied halfway down your thigh, boxers bunched up in them as well. Years of exposing yourself to him shouldn’t make your pale skin flush pink the way it does when you’re bare above your ankles. He continues to stare quietly when you step away from your discarded clothing. You don’t leave them there-- you can’t. You dutifully lift them into your arms and take to folding them neatly onto the soft armchair seated by the window to your left. And he  _ still _ watches in silence,  _ still _ fully clothed and your body is  _ still _ burning with embarrassment though you know it shouldn’t. You catch the glimpse of a smirk when you’ve turned back to face your lover, though it’s gone mere seconds after you’re able to identify the expression. Eldwick holds out his arms for you to approach him again. You take tentative steps forward, arms hugged around your middle once again and thighs pressed as close together as you can manage them while still moving towards your husband. His grip is firm at your wrists and he forces you to release yourself. He’s done that already today. You know he hates when you hide your body. So, why do you insist on doing it?

“You are beautiful, Aiden,” he tells you in a tone you almost mistake as anger. A whimper catches in your throat and sits heavy on your tongue before you’re able to swallow it down. His grip  _ hurts _ . “You’re supposed to be showing me that you deserve everything I give you, isn’t that right?”

You don’t hesitate to respond with a quiet ‘yes’. He hums his approval and his grip loosens.

“I want you to stop hiding your body from me, then. You can start there. You know I have never looked at your body in disgust or repulsion in the past. That is not going to change now.”

And you, silly boy. You believe him. Eldwick is a man of pride and you have been told time and time again that prideful Vampires need not lie. You are his, and for him to lie would be pointless. You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to. 

Eldwick’s fingers drop your wrists, but you’re able to grab his left hand before he returns it with his other to his side on the edge of the bed. You peel his glove off, tilting your body to place it at his side on the bed. It’s obvious from the way he quirks a brow that he’s curious what you’re doing. That is, until the moment the pink of your soft tongue pokes out between your lips and recognition lights his features. He remains silent when your warm saliva hits the tip of his fingers, eyes drooping to add to the desired effect. Tongue swirling around the first knuckle of his middle and index fingers, this apparently works for your husband as you see him working his free hand to undo his belt. The movement is caught out of the corner of your eye from trying to maintain eye contact with your lover. Eldwick’s grin never falters and you’ve always been perplexed by how fluid his movements are, how he can still look so composed and dangerous and passionate all at once, even as he slides the leather strap from around his waist and flicks his thumb over the button of his black slacks. A moan bubbles it’s way to the top of your throat and vibrates around his fingers. You can feel a strand of drool slip between the digits stuffed between your lips, dripping down the skin of the corner of your mouth and beginning to cool from the air conditioned room. Gooseflesh prickles down your spine. There’s more movement from Eldwick’s lap and while your mouth works his fingers in deeper until you can feel the ball of your uvula hit his blunt nails you decide to chance a look.

Eldwick’s already tugged his cock from the slit in his black boxers, slacks shoved neatly to his mid-thigh and his fist hardly gripping at the base of his length, other glove discarded and sat neatly to the side with the first one. Teasing himself while you slick his fingers up with enthusiasm. Another moan rattles your chest and your legs quiver, forcing themselves tighter together. You can feel yourself already growing slick between your thighs, and that embarrasses you. This isn’t meant to be for you, this is meant to be for him.

From your awkward knock-kneed, pigeon-toed stance, you’re given away the moment Eldwick glances down. Though he can’t tell how wet you’ve gotten with his fingers almost touching the back of your throat and your eyes on the precum beading at the tip of his cock, you’re sure it’s obvious from the whimper you give when he starts to move. He slips his fingers out from between your lips to caress your chin with the two digits. You almost cringe at the feeling of your own cold saliva dragged down your face. He goes lower still, skimming over your collarbones and down your sternum, eliciting a small gasp from you when his chilled fingers reach to flick over each of your nipples. He knows you love that, so he does it again, and you sigh. Your chest feels so  _ normal  _ when he touches you like that, and knowing you still at least have some sensation in that area after the surgery brings you joy.

Lower still he trails his fingers, saliva now nearly dried up along the combined heat of your skin. You don’t know what to do with your hands and are suddenly very aware of your thin arms hanging limp at your side. Shouldn’t you be doing something with them? Eldwick doesn’t tell you so. You leave them where they are and focus on the feeling of his fingers moving down your body. Nails bite crescents into your pale palm. An involuntary shiver shakes your shoulders when he reaches the little dip just underneath of your bellybutton and skims just the tips of his fingers over the flushed skin.

Lower.

Lower.

Your thighs quiver with nervousness, because his hand isn’t stopping and you don’t want him to know that you’re enjoying this, because it  _ isn’t for you _ . You don’t want him to be mad. He finds out anyway, fingers slipping past your outer folds to gently slide against the wetness of your inner labia. It’s tacky and warm and coating the insides of your thighs, and the redness spreads to your cheeks as he forces your thighs to part. Your knees nearly give out beneath you.

Eldwick takes his time with you. He coats his fingers in your wetness, the two that had begun in your mouth and then his thumb, stroking in small circles at the hood of your enlarged clit. He doesn’t use much pressure and you don’t get much from it, aside feeling cold from the air now that you’re spread and presented to him. You don’t stop feeling empty when his finger slips inside of you with little resistance. You need  _ more _ , you need  _ bigger _ . He’s conditioned you for the best and while the work with his fingers feels  _ just fine _ , you know he can do better. You croon at him to show you love his touch, rocking his finger back into you and making sweet noises in the back of your throat as a way of asking for more. 

Eldwick gives it to you, not bothering with a second finger before he’s shoving two more between your folds and pushing deep inside of you. It sparks pleasure in the base of your spine when he wiggles them. He feels around your insides and strokes your inner walls so delicately, as if he touches you any harder you might break.

He isn’t wrong.

Finally figuring out what to do with your hands, you place them on either side of Eldwick’s shoulders and use this as leverage to rock against him. Small toes curl into the carpet and your teeth bite your bottom lip. All while your husband watches you, what you do only for him, what you become only because of the things he does. Eldwick doesn’t move his fingers and instead lets you set the pace. Down, and his fingers are curling up inside of you, taking him to the last knuckle and straining for more. Up, and the need to be filled with  _ more _ grows stronger. By the time that Eldwick chooses to remove his fingers from inside of you, your body is flushed pink and the uncomfortable slick has grown on your thighs. This time you don’t shift to hide yourself, but let your little fingers move to the collar of his shirt. He’s silent, still. Normally he isn’t a talkative man in bed, but when you try something new you always ask he give you reassurance. Unfortunately for you, this is one of those times he chooses to watch instead of speak. It has your hands trembling more than they were before (You didn’t think it possible-- now you’re just sort of vibrating from nervousness).

Somehow you manage to get his buttons undone without assistance, and you move his shirt away from his shoulders, letting your palms glide smoothly over his soft skin. A smile flickers at the corners of your lips. The fabric slips off of his body, down his arms, and he does help you with shedding it completely. You grin-- a genuine, wide grin that shows all of your front teeth, and sink down, down, down until your knees hit the carpet without a sound. Eldwick shifts his knees apart from each other to allow you to settle back down between them. His slacks are easier to take care of than his shirt was; they’re already undone and resting taut on his mid-thigh, so with a little shimmying from his end you’re able to get him in nothing but his boxers. His erection has flagged from all of your stalling.

That won’t do. Good thing what you have in mind is destined to help that.

Eldwick knows all of your little noises by heart by now; when you sigh in approval at the heavy feeling of his cock in both of your hands you know he’s grinning down at you. Maybe not grinning. Maybe just turning the corner of his mouth up for a few seconds like he usually does when he’s equal parts amused and aroused, but still! He knows how eager and happy you are now that you’ve gotten over the initial awkwardness of having to undress yourself and then him, after riding his fingers to prepare yourself to take him, even though you know damn well that you don’t really  _ need _ that.

The initial lick is salty with his transparent precum, your tongue swirling it around his tip and marginally underneath his foreskin. He tastes a little bitter, not like musk but more of soap. Recently showered; you’re accustomed to the taste. Doe eyes glance up at Eldwick and you catch him staring down at you, but not with the expression you had anticipated.

Impatience. That’s what he’s showing you now, with one hand fisted in your hair and your tongue steadily lapping the vein that runs along the underside of his cock. Eldwick never has been one for foreplay. A teasing smile cast in his direction and you swirl your tongue playfully around the tip of his cock one more time before slowly sinking down. He sits on the back of your tongue, shoving your uvula out of the way and causing your eyes to water when you force yourself to take more. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a noise. Hell, you wouldn’t be able to tell he’s deriving any sort of pleasure from this if it weren’t for his fingers in your hair forcing you to take the inches you know you just  _ can’t _ . Each beat of his heart through his dick thrums in your throat and a hiccupy gag releases between where your tongue meets silken skin. The pressure on the back of your head loosens, so you’re able to put an end to the dark spots that dance in your eyes and the tears that threaten to spill from your ducts by slowly pulling up, sealing your lips around him again once he’s out of your throat and you’re able to breathe again.

You repeat this multiple times, developing a rhythm of suckling the head of his flushed shaft, tonguing the underside of the head and dipping your tongue underneath of his foreskin, and slowly, slowly sucking and sinking down to take him into your throat for a few seconds. Not enough to make him come, no. Not yet. That’s not what this is about. His approval shows through the soft fingers in your murky brown curls, petting you like the good boy that you are each time you fight the gag and convulse your raw throat gives at the intrusion of his sex.

“Aiden,” he says your name softly, demanding you return from your position on your knees to standing in front of him. His hands leave you altogether, dick twitching only two inches into your mouth. You peer up at him through the hair that’s fallen into your eyes and give one last gentle lick to his heat before you crawl up into his lap. Your arms are placed around his shoulders and meet in the center of his shoulderblades, caressing each dip and divot of muscle you can find there. Cold hands shock you when they’re placed onto your hips and slide down your thighs to ease your legs farther and farther apart.

Eldwick isn’t looking at you; he’s looking down, and you know exactly why. Lower lip sucked between your teeth, you flush red. He’s staring at where his cock peeks out from between your thighs, where his heat presses to yours and your clear fluids coat his skin. Had you the guts enough you would have followed his gaze right down as well, and had you the guts enough, you would have smiled at the thought of pretending that’s your dick, not his, and he’s buried inside of you and you’re whole and complete. No one ever gets what they want, though, and you most certainly do  _ not  _ have the guts enough to do something like that, so you’re forced to keep your gaze on him. He thrusts his hips up while using his hands on your hips to hold you hovering just inches off of his lap. His shaft slides through the wetness of your sex, shivers and goosebumps developing on the flesh of your back. Eldwick repeats this again, and again, each time earning a more pained response from you. You’re still very sensitive in that area. The roughness of him dragging over your clit the wrong way makes you want to cry out, blood gently trickling from the cut you’d made in your lip from biting too hard.

When he finally looks at you again, you can tell that something has changed. It’s not something you acknowledge, because whether you are aware of it or not, you’ve grown accustomed to ignoring the subtle changes. You notice them and you let them happen, because you can’t change them. Eldwick doesn’t kiss you on the lips, leaning forward to let his lips meet your cheek, your ear, your neck. There’s a sharp pain that erupts in your thighs when his nails bite through the epidermis just as his elongated canines sink into the fattiest part of your skinny neck. This time's for real, with his cock nestled between your thighs and your body beginning to develop a thin layer of sweat to help cool you down. Eldwick bites; you endure. Fire engulfs you. You can smell the coppery tang of blood. Your blood, exiting the fresh wounds of your neck and entering your husband’s waiting mouth. You’d only be able to give him about a pint, usually even less than that because of your anemia. That’s why you’re always sick after letting him feed.

There are some days where you’re sure you won’t wake up at all.

Eldwick pulls from you after laving over your wound with his saliva, using it to help the wound heal. You’re thankful for this, at least. His lips are stained with the crimson of your blood, quirking up into a pleased grin. You return the expression, bringing a hand up to drag over the wound he’d created. Fingers return back with small droplets of blood on them. Of course, the wound was still open. Shouldn’t have touched it.

While you contemplate this, Eldwick shifts your positions to how you’d been when he first brought you up here to  _ make things up to him _ . You, sprawled out on your back, limbs loose and legs parted. Eldwick, hovering over you, thighs pressed to the back of yours where he places himself between your legs, hands on either side of your head. His weight makes the pillows dip unnaturally. It’s uncomfortable for your head. You don’t say anything.

Thin arms come up to wrap over his shoulders and pull him down. He’s not compliant so much as he’s willing to go along with whatever silly game you choose to play. Pretending the room hadn’t grown to feel different was beginning to get more and more difficult the longer you waited, the space between your legs growing cold now that you didn’t have him stimulating you. He looks at you like a science experiment sometimes, or maybe like food. Right now, for example. He caresses you like he doesn’t know you, thumbing over your cheek with his left hand and keeping his weight off of your slender frame with his right hand. Relearns the lines of your body, bringing his fingers down over your ribs with a crease between his eyebrows. You don’t react more than the occasional gasp for more, for him to please keep touching you, and for him to never stop.

( _ And he doesn’t, but you’re growing suspect _ )

Eldwick’s fingers slip down when he sits up, occupying the emptiness between your legs. You keen at him. Hips lift up from the bed to encourage him, your arms leaving his body and meeting at the wrist above your head on the pillow. He cups the mound of your sex and presses the heel of his palm to the top nerves of your clit. A sensation very much welcome after the rough thrusting he’d done before. Pleasure finally, finally starts to coil in your pelvis, corners of your eyes watering for  _ more, more, more _ , which comes in the form of two fingers fitting themselves inside of you. They press up against your walls and force you to open. Doing nothing more than exploring your depths and teasing you until you’re mewling for the third finger that teases at your outer folds.  _ More _ , you think. That’s what you need, that’s what you’ve always needed.

That’s what he’s always given you. His fingers abruptly leave you, replaced by the feeling of something larger, slicker than the intruding digits, blunt and pressing and stretching and your eyes are squeezed shut before you even realize that you can’t see your lover’s face if you do that, you fucking idiot. It hurts too much to keep your eyes open; this is how it always starts. Awkward, because you don’t initially stretch to accommodate him right away and he has to try three times to get it right. Amazing, because when the flared head of his cock pushes into you with a pop you  _ feel,  _ you think you can breathe again. Once inside of you, Eldwick takes his time pressing inches slowly into you, letting you feel the pulse of his heat as he enters you. There’s no words in any language in any part of the known universe that can describe the way it feels when you make love. No book of lovesick poetry could accurately depict the wholeness and realness you feel in moments like this. When it’s just you and Eldwick, when the sun is reaching it’s highest point, when he’s so tired and you know he is, because it’s past sunrise, and he’s here, with you, in bed, rocking his body into yours and letting you meld yourself to the curve of his chest. You pepper his skin with bruising kisses the moment he begins to speed his thrusts into you. Fingers grip the sheets, the headboard, your pillow, hair, whatever you can reach. You’re acutely aware of the noises you’re beginning to make the deeper he pushes into you. He’d always liked the noises you make, though, so you don’t stifle yourself.

“Eldwick,” you mutter through loose lips. Heavy eyes open to stare at the most beautiful shade of blue-gray you’ve ever seen. He must have taken off his glasses while you were busy focusing on the pleasure he’s so willingly giving you, because his eyes aren’t obscured by the lenses of his wire frames. It’s these moments you see Eldwick, you really see him, and you love him.

By Gods. You love him.

“I love--”

He doesn’t let you finish your sudden endearment, kissing you quietly while all the way inside of you. You could die like this. You could die like this and be rejected at the gates of heaven and you’d be fine. Eldwick swallows down the whimpers you give at his shallow thrusts. For the first time since you began he makes a louder noise of pleasure, easing a soft, groaning sigh to the skin of your jaw when he breaks the kiss. His hair tickles your nose.

You don’t protest when he starts to pull free from you, staring down at your lower half and caressing the wetness of your thighs, breaking the strand of slick that connects the head of his cock to your sex. Carefully your body is turned around. On your belly now, you cant your hips upwards and rest on your knees, legs spread as far as they can go without hurting  _ too much _ . It burns, but you can handle it, because you know how good it’s going to feel later. You leisurely stretch your arms out over your head, head angled just right to give your husband a seductive look out of the corner of your eye. He’s not watching. His calloused hands palm the soft flesh of your ass, thumbs dipping down to part you open and he  _ stares _ . With a whimper under his powerful gaze, your eyes slide shut again and you press your face into the pillow below you.

The feeling of him entering you again is welcome to help you get your mind off of everything else. You don’t want to think. You just want to feel and you want to give Eldwick everything he wants and desires. Right now, what he wants is your body to submit entirely to him. This is your apology.

( _ Because you’re not sure he hears when you speak. _ )

Eldwick’s warm breath is in your ear, one arm stretching up to clasp his long, elegant fingers over your balled fist. He holds you tight when he presses into you, building a rhythm that slowly grows into a crescendo in the pit of your belly, the muscles in your pelvis quaking. It’s not an orgasm, but it’s the closest thing you’re going to get. The electric sensation comes in waves each time he thrusts hard into you. Your toes curl and your breath catches. Sweat pools at the small curve of your back. You can feel his abdomen pressed flush against you, holding you down while his limbs tangle with yours. In tandem you move; Eldwick pushes forward and you arch back, soft noises leaving your throat if only to make him smile. His breath in your ear grows with each snap of his hips to yours, grip tighter on your fingers when you feel him grow a little more desperate. You love this part of him, so close to orgasm that he let’s himself succumb to the primal desire to mate. You wish you could see his face, though…

A growl erupts from your husband. Pain. Pleasure. Everything all at once. His teeth rip open the still bloody wound on your neck and you let out a strangled cry, struggling beneath him. He’s growing animalistic, losing himself and destroying you in the process. This has only happened once before, three days into your honeymoon. You scream; Eldwick doesn’t hear you. His orgasm crashes through him and into you in rippling waves, and you can feel every pulse of his cock inside of you, releasing and filling you up so much that your belly begins to cramp. You know by now that you can’t stop him. He’s going to take what he wants from you, and you’re going to let him. Biting back your pleas for him to stop hurts, but at least you’re able to focus on the self-inflicted pain inside of your mouth as opposed to the burning sensation of blood being drawn from your body. Eldwick’s teeth dislodge from your neck and he pants against your bloodied shoulder, audibly spent, having completely emptied himself inside of you.

“Mm… Rowan.”

Your body grows cold.

That’s not your name. But you do know who that name belongs to. You can picture him now-- about your height, with darker hair and prettier eyes and clearer skin. And those canines that bite down into his plush lip. He’s pure. He’s a vampire. Just like Eldwick is. The edges of the puzzle had been put together for you from the start, leaving you with only a few small pieces to slot together without ruining the picture. When you’re finally able to find the right fit, it crumbles apart anyway. You lay there underneath of your husband, filled with his semen, while he murmurs another man’s name into the marks he’s bruised and carved into your skin. Does he know?

Probably.

You swallow the bile that rises in your throat.

Because you always knew that your husband loved somebody. This time, though, as he rolls off and turns to the side to fall asleep, his back to you, and you still lay on your belly with his cum dripping from your sex, leaving you feel used-- this time, you know it is not you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this. Please keep in mind that this is not canon to the original Redamancy universe. I'm currently working on another story involving Eldwick and Aiden, set parallel to the Redamancy canon (when will I ever actually get to writing the Redamancy canon, I ask myself every day). If you're interested in revisiting these characters I encourage you to check out the first chapter of Glycerine, a multi-chaptered novella centered around Sir Eldwick Ware and Aiden Benton, when it is published. Please leave your feedback below, it's all very appreciated! Thank you so much for reading.


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